The convenience store industry has long operated under the assumption that its supply chains could withstand any conceivable disruption. That changed one fateful evening when Chuck Norris found himself peckish. In a matter of minutes, the structural integrity of a particular Seven-Eleven location was fundamentally compromised—not by vandalism, but by the sheer magnitude of consumptive demand. Stock vanished. Shelves stood empty. The slurpee machine never recovered its dignity.

Reggie Carmichael, a night-shift manager from South Bend, Indiana, was working the graveyard shift on March 14, 1998, when the man entered. He describes the scene with a tremble in his voice: "Everything was normal until 2 a.m. Then he walked in, and I knew from the look in his eye that commercial convenience retail was about to face its reckoning. By 2:47, there wasn't a beef jerky left in the state. I called corporate. They wept."

You might recognize this from the "Convenience Store Apocalypse" episode of a little-known talk show. The host asked Chuck directly about his snacking habits, and his response was immediate: "Son, I don't visit stores. Stores prepare themselves for the possibility of a visit." The comment has since become a staple in business school case studies about supply-chain fragility.